The Farmer's Wife Read online

John sat on his porch as the sun dipped low in the sky. In the heat of summer, this would be the best time of day for a beer. But now, when the chill in the air whispered autumn waning to winter, a shot of Wild Turkey would warm his aching bones.

  Unfortunately, his suddenly crazy wife, or perhaps a meddlesome son, had emptied all the liquor bottles, then drunk all the beer.

  At the least a man could contemplate his day, his week, his life with a cigarette. John smirked. Someone had tried to get rid of his cigarettes, too. But his mama hadn’t raised a fool. He kept an emergency pack stashed in a secret hideaway in his desk. But unearthing those had unearthed something else as well.

  Proof positive that his son was plotting anarchy behind his back.

  Add to that Ellie’s odd behavior, the shadows in his daughter’s eyes, the changes he was supposed make in his life and the gut-crunching boredom of sitting on his duff and resting, and John was more than a little on the edge.

  He felt useless, worthless and every single year his age.

  He considered smoking the single cigarette he had secreted in his breast pocket—just having it there helped—but the crackle of gravel at the end of the lane, followed by the barking of Bear and Bull, announced the arrival of Kim and Brian.

  John called off the dogs and sent them back to the barn before Kim’s car got scratched or they dribbled drool on her hundred-dollar shoes.

  She and Brian were arguing as they got out of her car, so they didn’t see him lurking in the shade cast by the eaves.

  “One of the reasons I’m at your house is to help you get dressed. There’s no reason for you to come to supper in sweatpants and an old T-shirt.”

  “And there’s no way I’m letting you undress me. I’ve had quite enough of that for one lifetime, thank you very much.”

  “Ahem.” John cleared his throat before he heard more than he wanted to, although he probably already had.

  “Daddy!” Kim exclaimed, and ran up the steps, clippety-clop, in her strappy red shoes.

  “Don’t you look nice,” he murmured as she kissed his cheek, though he wondered about the suspicious swelling of her eyelids, the uncommon lack of makeup on her face and the braids in her hair, none of which matched her smooth black skirt and sparkly red sweater.

  “Thank you. I’m down to my last few pairs of shoes, courtesy of that walking wool ball.”

  “How so?”

  “She hates me. Keeps shoving me into every disgusting pile of filth she can find.”

  John coughed to stifle a laugh. Sounded like jealousy to him, which only meant things were going his way.

  “Don’t mind Brian.” Kim turned up her nose. “He said it wouldn’t matter what he wore.”

  She didn’t seem to realize—or maybe she just didn’t care—that John had overheard something private, but Brian did. A flush rose from the collar of his white T-shirt, and the fading knot on his head turned a darker shade of purple as he avoided meeting John’s eyes.

  Poor sap. John had probably not done him much of a favor in sending Kim to help. If Brian was still stupid in love with her—and John was betting that he was—having Kim around had to hurt worse than those two broken wrists.

  Once, John had wanted Kim to have more than what he and her mother had. But with age came wisdom— sometimes. What he and Ellie—there was no way he would think of her as anything other than Ellie, no matter what she wanted—had together was pretty damn good. Or at least it had been until his wife got weird on him.

  John shook his head. Ellie was only one of many problems. Nearly losing his life had made him realize he wanted his girl near. If that meant tossing her and Brian Riley back together, then so be it. She could do far worse than a young man who still loved her eight years after she’d left him behind.

  “Just glad you two could make it,” John said. “How you feeling, Brian?”

  “Clumsy.”

  John smiled, remembering why he’d always liked this boy—until he’d started kissing on John’s baby girl, at least. Brian’s dry wit and dependable demeanor were that of a born farmer, and there was no higher praise in John’s book.

  “So you still have Barbara?”

  Brian cast a glance at Kim, who shrugged. “Barbara?”

  “Knock-knock.”

  “Daddy, Brian doesn’t like knock-knock jokes.”

  “Speak for yourself, city girl.”

  John smirked at Kim’s new nickname and her subsequent scowl. The boy didn’t plan on being a doormat. Good for him.

  “Who’s there?” Brian asked.

  “Barbara.”

  “Barbara who?”

  “Barbara black sheep, have you any wool?”

  Brian snorted. John beamed. A snort was the proper response to the perfect knock-knock joke. Not outright laughter, but surprise that anything so foolish could be funny.

  “Got any more, Mr. Luchetti?”

  “Call me John.”

  Brian blinked. “Sir?”

  “My name. It’s John.”

  “I’m not sure if I can.”

  “Try. I feel old enough already without being called mister by another farmer.”

  “You aren’t old, Daddy.”

  “Old enough to know we’d better get to the table before your mom has a conniption.”

  “Mom? Conniption? Right. That’ll happen.”

  “You’d be surprised,” John muttered, earning a sharp, suspicious glance from his daughter.

  She fell back, took his elbow, and when Brian would have stayed, too, she shook her head—just a little—and he continued into the house. They might be on edge with each other. They might argue and sneer. But there was still something between them. Something strong, sure, as solid as what John had with Ellie. He wanted that for his baby girl.

  “What’s up, Daddy?” she asked as soon as the door closed behind Brian.

  He shrugged, not sure if he should say anything, especially to Kim. It wasn’t as if she and Ellie were pals. But Kim was a woman, which made her closer to Ellie—in theory, anyway.

  “Your mom is acting—” he wasn’t sure how to describe it except “—weird.”

  “Mom and weird do not go together.”

  “Which only makes how weird she is weirder.”

  “Specifics, Daddy.”

  “I’m not supposed to call her Ellie anymore.”

  Kim’s eyes widened. “That’s it?”

  John shrugged. “I’ve been calling her Ellie for thirty years. She could have mentioned before now that she hated it.”

  “What else?”

  “I don’t know. She’s just . . .”

  “Weird. I got that.”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and kicked at an imaginary rock. “When I was in the hospital, I made up this great joke just for her.”

  Kim’s eyes narrowed. “What joke?”

  Quickly he told her his ellie-phant gem. Her lips twitched and she coughed.

  “She didn’t like it?”

  “No. She’s really mad.”

  “You know that Mom doesn’t enjoy knock-knock jokes the way we do?”

  “Who does?”

  “True. So why did you bother?”

  “I thought she’d like it. I used her name.”

  Kim rolled her eyes and gave him a look that shouted Men! more clearly than if she’d shouted.

  “Even if she didn’t like the joke, she’s overreacting. To that and a lot of other things.” He took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “Could you talk to her? See if you can find out what’s the matter?”

  “Like she’s going to tell me?”

  “Please? For Daddy?” His fingers itched again. He patted the pocket with the cigarette and felt calmer, but not much. “She’s making me nervous.”

  Kim frowned. “You shouldn’t get upset. You’re supposed to be resting.”

  “I was almost resting permanently. I’ve got work to do.”

  “And three sons perfectly able to do it.”

  “Able to take
over and put me in the nursing home, you mean.”

  Kim peered at him in the fading sunlight. “Okay, you lost me.”

  “Never mind. I just don’t like sitting around. Now, promise me you’ll talk to your mother.” She opened her mouth, and he could see a denial on the way. “Tonight,” he insisted.

  His concern must have worked its way through to her, because she hesitated, snapped her mouth shut and nodded.

  Supper would once have been meat and potatoes, two vegetables, homemade bread and fresh-baked pie. Tonight the red meat had yielded to chicken, the mashed potatoes and gravy to baked potatoes and margarine, and instead of pie there was angel food cake topped with fresh fruit. Eleanor Luchetti knew how to cook for any situation.

  And she was acting weird. Daddy was right.

  But Kim’s morn wasn’t the only one behaving strangely. Her father kept scowling at Dean, when he wasn’t scowling at the margarine and the fruit. Not that scowling at Dean was unusual, but Dean flinched every time. Usually her brother just scowled right back.

  Aaron was oblivious as always; Evan, too busy eating to notice much beyond his plate.

  Brian had gone silent. He was polite enough, thanking her mother for supper, answering any questions that came his way, eating whatever she put in his mouth and doing the best he could to feed himself a bit with the tips of his fingers.

  But he stayed out of the conversation, almost as if he didn’t want to be noticed, which reminded Kim of how he used to behave back when they’d been heating up the sheets—or rather, the back seat of the car. He’d been terrified one of her brothers would catch them— worse, her father. But no one had. They’d thought they were lucky; now they knew differently.

  However, she couldn’t understand what was making Brian so nervous tonight. So they’d kissed. They weren’t going to do it again, or anything else. Even if they did, they were adults. He had nothing to worry about from her father or her brothers.

  The phone rang and Brian jumped so high she thought for a minute he was going to get up and answer it himself. She cast him a questioning look, but he ignored her and went back to chasing a green bean around his plate.

  “Colin!” her mother exclaimed.

  They all stopped eating and held their breath, wanting, needing, to hear about Colin. They received so little news from him.

  “Where are you?”

  She nodded, nodded again—as if Colin could see her.

  “Where is he, Ellie?”

  Eleanor glared at her husband. Kim blinked at the expression—one she couldn’t recall ever seeing her mother direct at her father. Kids, yes. Husband, no.

  “Sorry,” Dad mumbled. “Eleanor.”

  Mom turned, presenting the room with her back. Kim glanced at Aaron in time to see him frown and glance at Dean, who was also frowning. Evan just shrugged and went back to eating.

  “And Bobby? Have you heard from him?”

  The entire table tensed. Bobby worried everyone the most. Wherever there was a hot spot in the world, Bobby was usually knee-high in the middle of it. They were all proud of him, but they were also terrified he’d get himself into something too deep to wade out of one of these days.

  “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Do you want to talk to your dad?”

  John pushed back his chair, but before he could stand, his wife stiffened.

  “Colin? Colin? You there?”

  She pulled the phone away from her ear, shook it a bit, then tried again. “Colin!”

  Her shoulders sagged and she hung up the phone, turned. “The line went dead.”

  Her husband nodded. Though no disappointment appeared on his face, he had to be feeling it. He often kept his emotions to himself, which, now that Kim thought about it, had to be awfully hard to live with and not exactly good for him, either.

  John Luchetti’s modus operandi was to tamp down every upset, every regret, every anger for as long as he could—then he would explode. From the way he’d been glaring at Dean tonight, an explosion was imminent.

  Kim glanced at her mother, who had returned to her chair and resumed eating as if the phone call had never happened.

  Silence settled over the table. Wasn’t anyone going to ask? Frustration made Kim grit her teeth, then finally blurt, “Where was he?”

  Her mother started. “Oh. Didn’t I say?”

  “No, you didn’t. And inquiring minds want to know.”

  “Don’t be a smart mouth, Princess,” Dean sneered.

  “You aren’t my father,” she returned.

  Brian groaned. “Here we go.”

  Their mother’s voice stopped the inevitable argument. “He’s in a country that ends with ‘stan.’”

  Eleanor took a sip of water, frowned as though she were having a hard time remembering the conversation that had ended two minutes ago. Kim looked at her father, who shrugged as if to say, See? Weird.

  “Which country that ends in ‘stan’?” Aaron asked gently.

  “I can’t quite recall. Does it matter?”

  “Probably not.” He patted her hand. “He’s all right, then?”

  She nodded. “You know how he is. Thrilled. Jazzed. The action is happening and he’s right in the middle of it.”

  “What about Bobby?”

  Concern flickered in her eyes, there and then gone the next instant. “Colin didn’t know where he was. He tried to get word to him about your heart attack, John, but he hasn’t heard anything back yet.”

  “Secret Mission,” Dean muttered. “Special ops. Hush-hush.

  His mother gave him a silencing glare. She didn’t like to think about all the dangerous places Colin visited, all the dangerous things Bobby did. Such ostrich- like behavior had annoyed Kim in the past, but right now she could see her mother’s point.

  There was more than enough to worry about right here at home. Why borrow trouble?

  “Coffee?” Eleanor asked brightly. Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Kim rubbed her thumb between her eyes. Her mother might be overworked and underpaid, but she wasn’t a ditz—contrary to all appearances over the past few minutes.

  Someone kicked her under the table. She scowled at Dean and kicked back.

  “Ouch,” her father said. “What was that for?”

  Dean smirked.

  “Sorry. My foot slipped.”

  Her brother laughed out loud. His mistake.

  “If I were you I wouldn’t be yucking it up.”

  Dean swallowed.

  “I’m not dead yet,” her father continued. “This place isn’t yours, and it may never be. I’ve got six children.”

  Kim glanced at Brian, who appeared uncomfortable. She couldn’t blame him. He was friend, not family. He shouldn’t have to deal with the dirty laundry. Heck, Kim didn’t even want to.

  “I’m not interested in the place,” she volunteered.

  “No shit,” Dean muttered.

  Their father’s face turned an unpleasant shade of purple.

  “Daddy!” she cried.

  “Quiet! This is between me and him, and we’re going to discuss it right now. Get everything out in the open, rather than underneath the table. Or in the bottom of a drawer, hmm?”

  Kim had no idea what he was referring to, but Dean obviously did, since he paled.

  “I told you I didn’t want any of that fancy sci-fi nonsense on my farm. But you went and talked to the folks anyway, didn’t you?”

  Dean nodded.

  “Everyone calm down.” Aaron’s voice soothed as it always did. Unfortunately, it never seemed to soothe their father.

  “I’m not going to calm down! Do you know what he did?”

  “No, but I’m sure I will soon enough, whether I want to or not.”

  Kim fought a giggle. Aaron rarely made a joke, and when he did, it was usually so subtle as to go unnoticed by anyone unfamiliar with his wry sense of humor.

  “He had some slick salesman give him a quote on a robotic milking system.”

&n
bsp; Brian perked up. “Robotics? I read about that.”

  Her father ignored him, focusing instead on Dean, who slouched in his chair. “I told you I wanted nothing to do with that hocus-pocus. So what did you do? Wait until I keeled over and then snuck the guy in under your mother’s nose.”

  “I knew he was here.” Eleanor stood in the doorway with a tray of cups and a thermal coffeepot.

  “What!”

  “Don’t shout, John. It isn’t good for you.” She set the tray on the table and busied herself pouring.

  “It isn’t good for me to see generations of work go down the toilet, either.”

  Dean defended himself at last. Kim was surprised he’d kept his mouth shut this long. “Just because things have gone well so far doesn’t mean they can’t go even better if we try something new. Why won’t you listen to me?”

  “Ever hear ‘Don’t mess with success’? ‘Don’t fix what ain’t broke’? There’s truth behind every cliché, son.”

  “How about, ‘Keep up or you’ll be left behind’?”

  Kim winced as her father’s expression became even more forbidding. Would Dean ever learn to skate away from the edge?

  “The system will help us, not hurt us,” he continued. “Once we get things up and running, once the cows are used to it, we don’t have to be here 24/7.”

  “That’s what farmers do. They don’t fly off to Tahiti and leave their animals alone, or put the responsibility on someone else. Farmers farm.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be that way anymore.”

  “If you don’t like how it is, you don’t need to stay. I’ve got four other sons.”

  Kim gasped. “Daddy!”

  Dean might be a sarcastic jerk, but he loved this farm. Maybe the farm was all that he did love.

  Her father barely glanced her way. Dean muttered, “Stay out of this, Princess.”

  But she couldn’t. She’d been born the littlest and the youngest, the only girl among so many boys, and as long as Kim could remember, she had championed the underdog.

  Her years in family law had only made her need to do so stronger, and even though Dean had never stuck up for her—and wouldn’t thank her for doing it now— she couldn’t let him stand alone against something so blatantly unfair.

  “Now, Daddy,” she said. “Bobby and Colin don’t want the farm. You know that. And Evan will never stay put.”